Angel: A Short Story
by Sherann
Summary: I think the title speaks for itself, this is a very short story about Angel.


Blurred vision, sweaty palms and the heavy smell of liquor. The gentlemen to his right screamed obnoxiously while the bartender in front was asking him to leave. When he did he simply tossed his head to the right where everyone in the pub simultaneously parted opposite directions just so his eyes could see the lonely blonde woman awaiting him at the door. Little did he know that this woman would hold such a prominent role in his world. Sinking her sharp fangs into his neck Darla gave him eternity lifting the ongoing conviction of a guilty conscience. The twenty-six year old known as Liam vanished with the birth of Angelus, the demon with a beautiful face. Angel remembered this day better than any other, it was the day where his current existence began and every moment prior became a vague memory.

And when he dreamt of Darla, he dreamt of their son Connor. Their two century history was more complicated than a daytime soap opera; no matter how the times changed they always found each other. The last time around happened to be more tragic than the others. It ended with her death leaving behind Connor for Angel to care for. His son was a miracle encouraging him to live each day and when he was carried off to hell only being a few months old it was made evident that the universe despised him.

And when he dreamt of Connor, he dreamt of hell, where one day in the underworld equaled a hundred years. Little did Connor know that daddy knew all about hell; eternal suffering and deep depression were all emotions Angel felt the first time he went. Which just so happened to be the hardest time because of how it happened. He remembered standing there his soul crying from the inside of his hollow body. Looking up he saw Buffy with a sword in hand not comprehending what was happening. At the moment all he knew was it felt as if he'd been asleep for many months and he'd now just awaken. He soon would know where he'd been for that period of time when his lover would plant a kiss on his cheek then impale him with the very sword she had in her hand. Angel couldn't discern what hurt more, the dagger that pierced through his stomach or the dagger that pierced through his heart.

And when he dreamt of Buffy, he dreamt of the most perfect day. The day that reminded him of how selfless he could be and the constant war which raged within him to do what was absolutely necessary. Just like a prayer answered from God he was given the chance to be human once more and as fate would have it Buffy would be there to share this wonderful gift with him. In just one day, they had become the perfect couple preparing to spend many long and happy years together. Ice cream was sweet and creamy while peanut butter was gooey and sticky and for the first time in nearly two hundred years blood was the least desirable food on the menu. In a matter of minutes that part of his life was over when he began to open his eyes to the danger which came with the pleasure of being mortal. Holding Buffy tight as her tears saturated his shirt he watched the clock run down. When the big hand struck nine the day reversed in a way that only he could remember the perfect one that now no longer existed.

And when he dreamt of such a day, he dreamt of how life could've been if she actually remembered. The possibilities were endless but the one that rang true was if Buffy remembered she would've never left, if she never left she wouldn't have gone with Riley, if she never met Riley then she wouldn't have been depressed and if she wasn't depressed then she wouldn't have found herself in the arms of Spike. He fought with the how and why the worst thing that could have happen happened. Buffy wasn't his first nor his last, he never could forget the way he felt with Cordelia and the peace that overwhelmed him when he was with Nina. Though it was Buffy... Buffy, Buffy, Buffy, a goddess amongst the mortal and immortal. The one they all wanted but could never keep. It was the reason he didn't bother attending her party, it was the reason he stayed away from her altogether. She was too perfect.

And when the word perfect came to mind, he reminisced on how they fell in love, she would always look upon him with childlike eyes. She was so young barely even scratching the surface of life and so when she found him she assumed he was all there was and all there was to know. It was wrong of him to take advantage of her ignorance, but back then their love was his only drive. The present Buffy wasn't so pure. From their last meeting he noticed that her eyes were tainted, she had grown up, and she had seen others and duplicated the same love they once thought was rare. When they departed, no tears were shed and no kisses were given, she learned to live without him. So Angel decided to stay home in hopes that she would have a better thirtieth birthday party without him. It allowed him to avoid the question of where had the love gone.

And when he dreamt of Buffy turning thirty, he dreamt of her turning fifty and if she's lucky she'd see seventy, doubting that she would ever see ninety. Within that time span Willow would've probably already gone to be with Tara. Xander would be too old to insult him, Giles would be buried deep in the ground, and everyone else he knew would be well on their way.

And when he dreamt of that he awoke from his nightmare in cold sweat clutching his bed covers. He got up and threw on his overcoat in preparation to go for late night patrol. He hastily walked out the door feeling that he couldn't escape the inevitable. That one day his current life would become like his last, a vague memory.


End file.
